


Espresso Yourself

by geode



Category: Atlantis (UK TV)
Genre: M/M, but altantis was never cancelled in my heart, coffee shop AU, this is two years late sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 21:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7987231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geode/pseuds/geode
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Seriously?</i>  Jason thought. <i>This is how I'll tell our kids we met?</i> </p><p>feat. whipped cream, Medusa being a terrible wingman, the muffin that sealed Jason's fate, and a distinct lack of shits given about the actual coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Espresso Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> the alternative title for this was 'roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet and 9x-7i>3(3x-7u)' and i just thought y'all should know that.
> 
> written pre-s2.

If it hadn't been raining, Jason wouldn't have bothered.

He could've coped with the cold, and the being seriously pissed off, and even the fact that it was seven fifteen in the morning, but he could not cope with these things _plus rain_. That was the last straw. In his opinion, rain made everything grey and awful and wet (the last one, at least, wasn't opinion) - it wasn't possible for anyone to feel anything except miserable when it was raining, unless you were in The Notebook which Jason was pretty sure he wasn't.

His mood had plummeted the moment the first drop hit his nose, and the will to live immediately left him and ambled off somewhere drier, leaving him stuck on Hallcourt Street with an aching craving for his caffeine fix and a closed coffee shop.

He sighed. _Damn it, Starbucks. No one cares about the plumpitude of your cushions._

He'd stared through the glass at the single A4 sheet taped up, waiting for the words to change, or quite possibly just starting to wait out the ten days until they re-opened from their 'refurbishing!!'. That's when the rain had started and he'd begun cursing impressively at the overcast sky.

Going without coffee in the next half hour was not an option.

Jason usually would have just shrugged and run the three and a half miles into the city centre, not even considering the shithole further down the street. But the weather had stolen his fire and now he was trudging down towards his doom, aka The Worst Place On Earth (And Probably Mars Too If They Had Cafés And Oxygen, Etc). Technically, yes, okay, he'd never been there before so he could only give it the title pre-emptively, but he'd heard his friends sneering about it and had had no desire before this particular Thursday morning to go in there, not when Starbucks was right there and gave him 15% off with his loyalty card. (He was very loyal.)

Jason huffed and turned on his heel. Approaching the damned place was like a walk of doom, although admittedly a pretty hurried one due to the current meteorological circumstance.

_...my heart's telling me noooo,  
but my bodyyy, my body's telling me yeeees..._

A neon sign came into view through Jason's matted fringe as he got closer - not a working one, mind you, just tubes and potential. He nearly faltered when he saw it, but kept walking. _You can do this. It's okay. It's just a sign, just a terrible choice of sign._ The shop stood out from its neighbours rather harshly, with its posters and adverts cluttering the glass and making it practically impossible to tell what kind of establishment it was. Jason could practically smell it emanating Tacky. _C'mon, it's fine. So, it's junky - whatever. Could be ironic._

And then he blinked, and stepped into within reading distance of the sign. He'd been past the shop hundreds of times but never actually looked at it - like that door in Doctor Who that's always been there but you haven't ever noticed it - and the café was colloquially only referred to as "the worse one"; so it came as a real fucking shock.

The sign proclaimed in bright plastic, 'Espresso Yourself'.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Jason stopped dead, and that would've been the end of it - he would've turned around, run away screaming and never looked back; he might even have left town, left the country, just fucking left this fucking disaster of a café the fuck alone - but then his stomach mewed pathetically and he knew it was this monstrosity or feel like crap for the rest of the day.

Goddamn his entire life, that he had to support these morons and their fugly business. He'd heard bad things about them, about their merely adequate drinks and their weird staff and this one incident with a waffle iron - Jesus Christ, it was just an unspoken rule that Starbucks tops all else in these parts. Clearly, it was no contender.

Swallowing his pride, Jason convinced himself that they probably wouldn't kill him with a waffle iron if he was gonna give them money. He could just rush in, throw coins at them, grab a mug and fly out through the ceiling, right? And no one would have to know. He might even make it out alive.

_Drama queen._

He carried on down the street after a moment, pace notably slower regardless of the rain choosing that moment to up its game. Apparently, the other mourners (because they are mourning, just a little bit) had the same idea as he did; through the gaps between curling concert posters it looked kinda busy for the time of day, which, if his friends were to be relied upon, was unusual. They'd made out it was a dump. It looked warm, though, and dry, which was enough to persuade Jason in his current desperate state.

He pushed open the door (there was one of those stupid old-school bells, how unsurprising) and a wave of quiet laughter and clinking cups hit him. A second later, heat washed over his face, and he felt himself relax involuntarily.

And perhaps Jason was biased because he was in a shit mood now and in need of sugar, and it was still only six fifteen in the fucking morning, but the place wasn't half bad in his eyes. Bigger than it looked from the street, warm blue wallpaper, sleek wooden surfaces, little tables dotted around casually, and a few people, mostly sitting alone with laptops and half-eaten pastries. (It felt like being part of a secret club, Jason realised, being awake this early in the same place as other humans.) It was definitely better than he'd been led to believe by the rumours, and by Marco and Harris and Jay, not to mention the view from outside.

It was like discovering a new country somewhere you never would have gone except by accident. Or fate. 

"Excuse me," a voice said, and Jason was pulled back from spiralling thoughts of himself as Columbus riding a dinosaur and holding a SUX 2 B U flag ready for sticking in any new countries he came across. He muttered apologetically to the guy the voice belonged to, and moved out of the doorframe to let him pass. 

The door clicked shut. 

He'd done it! He'd faced his fears of... of waffle irons. And bad coffee. Not particularly big fears, but fears nonetheless. He was proud of himself, although decided to wait till he'd tried a drink and left unscathed before forming his opinion, just in case. 

The queue had a couple of other people in it, and as soon as he'd joined it another came up behind him. While he was waiting, he looked around and slowly began to realise that everything was completely fine and normal in here. After a few minutes, the person ahead said _Thanks very much_ and cleared the way; Jason pounced, eyes glued to the menu board above the counter. 

"Onnnnnnnnne mocha, I think," he announced, skimming over the hot drinks section, "with extra cream. Or maybe not. I don't know. Yes, cream. No, not cream. Eugh, what do you recommend?" 

Frustrated, his eyes slid down to the barista for the first time, and he just about fell over. 

He- he was- BraiN maLfuNct1%n, shit, _shit_ , he was _gorgeous_. Jason had a type, okay, and this guy was it. Shit. Shit. 

"Cream has its merits," the guy replied, flashing a smile. 

_Seriously?_ Jason thought. _This is how I'll tell our kids we met? 'Cream has its merits'?_ And then, _This is ridiculous, WHY WAS THAT SO HOT?_

"Um," Jason stuttered, blinking. The guy narrowed his eyes, grinning a little. 

"...But then, of course, so does no cream." 

_Voice. Mouth. Eyes. Green eyes, no_ , this was way worse than he'd initially thought. _Black shirt, pale skin, just begging to be bitten- Noooooo-_

"Yes!" Jason agreed enthusiastically, because he couldn't think of anything else to do. "Yes! You're absolutely right! Cream! Oh, wait, no cream?" 

The guy laughed, and Jason felt like he'd won something. He beamed and instantly forgot he was supposed to be in a bad mood and in hate with what was not his beloved Starbucks. When was it raining, sorry? 2014? What even is rain? 

The guy leaned forward conspiratorially. "We should probably stop saying the word 'cream' so liberally now - I think some of the other customers are getting disturbed." 

Jason's throat went weird. He coughed. "Cream." he said, and the guy raised an eyebrow, "I mean, that thing we're not saying. I'd like some, please." 

And god, did that sentence sound euphemistic. He flushed as the guy tapped his order into the till, before turning to the machine and hitting a button. Coffee beans ground away, the soundtrack to Jason's obviously rom-com life. 

The guy went about getting a mug and cocoa powder, and Jason watched him work, already nostalgic for a life he would never get to live. The guy (and he, for now, remained nameless, considering he didn't seem to be wearing a badge) finished setting it all out, and leant against the adjacent counter waiting for the beans to be done. 

_Say something, goddamit, Jase. Remember the hourglass._

"It's busy. Right? I mean, this isn't normally how- I mean, the other- I mean. It's busy." 

The guy (maybe he could try guessing his name: Dave? Alex? Luke?) looked over at him, tilting his head amusedly. 

"It is busy, yes." 

Jason nodded vigorously. "Yeah." 

For a few, painful seconds, silence weighed down on them, but then, "We were your second choice, I'm guessing?" 

He (Matt? Callum? Harry?) didn't sound annoyed, just sort of curious. 

"What? No!" Jason tried to sound offended, but it fell flat. He bit his lip. "Kinda." 

"I keep _telling_ Herc to rename it, but he's so stubborn you would not believe." 

It took Jason a moment or two to catch up. "Oh, so you don't like, um, 'Espresso Yourself'?'" 

The guy (Dylan? Liam? Jake???) made a noise of disgust. "Absolutely not. It radiates hideous." 

"That it does." Jason agreed, trying a quick smile. The guy opened his mouth to say something, and then the coffee machine beeped. He darted across to it and started to do impressive things with jugs of hot water. When he returned with a steaming mug of presumably mocha, Jason realised that time was running out. 

"Is Herc your boss?" he blurted. 

"Officially, yes, but in reality, Medusa's the one we listen to." 

"Oh? Who's-" 

The doors leading to the kitchen swung open, and a girl walked out carrying a baking tray of huge muffins. She had turquoise dreadlocks and was singing to herself. 

"-Medusa?" Jason finished belatedly, although it was pretty clear now. She was on the small side, but the way she held herself made it obvious she ran the show. 

She looked up at the sound of her name and ambled over. 

"You spreading rumours about me to hot men again? You can't steal 'em all, you know," she said cheerily, winking at Jason. The guy (What's his freaking name - say it, muffin girl! Say it!) looked horrified and turned to her, the whipped cream can in his hand forgotten. Meanwhile, Jason had a distracted _Hurrah, he's not Straight!_ moment. He hoped it hadn't shown on his face. 

"Medusa!" the guy reprimanded, hitting her on the arm with the can, but she just grinned at him and opened the pastry cabinet by his elbow. She began to carefully place assorted muffins by their respective name cards. 

The guy slowly turned back to Jason. He was red in the face. 

That was a very good sign. 

"I'm sorry about her," he offered, shaking the can slowly in an attempt to commence normal life again. His unshakeable cool seemed to have been shaken. 

"I'm sorry about her, too," Medusa said, "I'm not myself before eight a.m. - speaking of which, why are you around so early?" 

"Oh, uh, jogging," Jason answered, tearing his eyes away from the dude and gesturing to his sports attire which they apparently assumed he wore all the time. 

"Ooh, he jogs! This one's a keeper. I tried jogging once - did not end well. It takes real determination to do something like that. Not to mention," she paused for effect, looking at Potentially Michael, "stamina." 

"I hate you," he replied with feeling, finishing up with the cream (which, by the way, had been mesmerising). Medusa just laughed and shut the cabinet. She sauntered back to the kitchen, humming. Possibly Peter didn't make eye contact with Jason as he pushed the tray forward. 

"That's two eighty," he mumbled, and then cleared his throat. "And have a muffin for the trouble my colleague gave you." 

He grabbed one and added it to Jason's saucer. 

"Oh!" Jason exclaimed, taken aback, because who doesn't love a free muffin, especially from a Cute Guy who may or may not think you're hot, come on. "Thank you. That's- but it was no trouble, seriously. It was cool to meet you, er..." 

Jason felt proud of himself for working in the classic How To Get Someone's Name line. 

The guy looked up, looking slightly horrified for some reason. Then he seemed to steel himself, swallowing. 

"Uh, Py." 

Jason blinked. Nothing else came after. "Sorry, what?" 

"My name's- my name's Py. Not my real name, but that's not... yeah, so I use... Py." 

"I see." In fact, Jason didn't see at all. He handed over a fiver and thought for a second. "But you work in a shop that sells pies-" 

"Yes, yes, I know, do you see my dilemma?" Py snapped, and immediately looked guilty (which: adorable). He started counting out change. 

"Um, well I'm Jason. Lovely to make your acquaintance, 3.14," he grinned, pleased with himself for using maths in the real, post-school world for the first time ever. And for such a good cause! 

"159," Py replied easily, as if he'd just been asked the time, then grimaced at himself. 

"Huh?" Jason inquired intelligently. 

Py blushed a deep red, and then someone poked Jason in the back. 

"You done, mate?" a dude in a hoodie asked, irritated. Jason moved aside automatically - habit of a coward. 

"Um, yeah so- thanks for- uh, bye," Jason babbled, doing a stupid little wave that he regretted immediately. Py's lips twitched, even though he still looked mortified. 

Good, they were on the same page then. 

Jason, flustered, sat down at a table. He didn't have anything to read, didn't even have his phone on him - normally he just drank on the go - but now he'd have to stay there for at least ten minutes lest he look like a weirdo. Ah well. At least he could perve on the cute barista. Little things, little things. 

As he sat there, pretending to be fascinated by the snack menu, he concluded three things. 

One, he had survived his Worst Case Scenario happening and wasn't even that pissed off anymore. 

Two, Espresso Yourself's reputation was entirely false apparently, and it was rather delightful. 

And three, Jason was completely, absolutely and irrevocably in like with the ridiculously named and ridiculously hot Py, who sells pies.

_Nice one, Jase._


End file.
